Finding Sarah
by mithras90
Summary: Mac finally meets someone he is attracted to at Ground Zero and for the first time begins to wonder if he can have a life beyond CSI.


**This is not meant as a tribute to 9/11 - I don't know anyone who was killed there - my cousin had a very narrow escape as he was supposed to be working in one of the towers that morning but his boss decided that he didn't need to report there until the following week. This is just meant as a story about Mac as I felt so sorry for him after Claire was killed at Ground Zero and I felt that he deserved his shot at happiness. By all means review - you can even tell me that you don't particularly like it, but no flames please.**

Finding Sarah

Mac stood at the desolation of what had been the twin towers, his mind far away. His ribs and arm ached with a persistent throbbing that made it hard to concentrate. _Stella,_ he thought wryly, she'd have a fit if she saw him here, but he had to come today. He hadn't been able to on the anniversary, the hospital hadn't released him.

_His thoughts wandered back to when he'd been shot, he'd found himself walking a long road on a brightly lit summer afternoon. There'd been no-one else around and there'd been no birdsong, nothing, just the dusty, lonely road and himself walking it. A part of him had wondered if he was dying and if this was limbo. "I'd have at least expected Claire to come and meet me," he said out loud to himself. But there was no reaction, he was still alone. He'd walked for what seemed like hours before he found a bench. There seemed to be other people sitting on it, waiting for something. He tried to speak to one or two, but they either couldn't hear him or they weren't talking. He sat down and waited with them._

_Eventually, as if from nowhere a bus pulled up next to the bus stop and he waited while the others boarded it. Eventually it was just him, he stepped up to the open doors to board it. The bus driver, a dark-skinned man wearing what seemed to be a uniform looked him up and down and said slowly, "This bus ain't for you, sir."_

_He opened his mouth to ask a question but suddenly the bus doors jerked shut with a hiss and the vehicle moved off, making him leap backwards in order not to be run over. Shaking his head he moved back to the bench and sat down. He waited for hours again and then another bus approached, dust coating it's blue livery. He stood up expectantly waiting for it to stop, but when it did and the doors opened the driver surveyed him quietly and shook his head, "I'm sorry," he smiled, "try to be patient." And then he was gone. _

_Mac frowned and then returned to the bench. He looked around wondering what to do and where to go next, he seemed to be stuck in some sort of limbo. Swallowing, he began to walk towards the place he'd seen the buses emerge from, maybe he couldn't board a bus but he was sure as hell going to find out what was going on this place. He'd been walking for what seemed like hours when he suddenly looked up and gasped, he was no closer to his destination than before. He turned and looked back towards the bus stop, in fact he seemed to be midway between the two. For a moment he considered returning to sit in its shelter but then his mouth took on a hard line and he squared his shoulders and began walking again._

_He never knew how long he walked, but he knew he wasn't making any progress. Once or twice he looked up at his destination and his mouth twitched, So this is Purgatory, he thought grimly, he would have laughed if he'd had the saliva or the breath, but all he could do was to grit his teeth and continue to walk. He wasn't going back to sit quietly in some bus shelter in the middle of nowhere, even if it sent him to Hell he was going to find out what was going on. He never remembered collapsing, although he did vaguely remember struggling to his feet. His head was spinning and he couldn't feel his legs any more, he looked down at himself and was mildly amused to see the yellow dust from the road coating his dark trousers, whoever had imprisoned him here certainly wanted to keep up appearances. It was the last clear thought he had for some time. _

_Someone was kneeling next to him, he forced open gritty eyelids and tried to see who it was but his eyes were too heavy, something was held to his lips and despite himself he drank thirstily, he thought he heard a soft chuckle, "I did try and tell them you would fight to the bitter end, but they never were particularly good at listening. Drink some more and then we'll get you out of here."_

_He wanted to ask who the person was but the hand was beneath his neck again and the cup was held to his lips, despite his questions he drank again and felt his head lowered to the ground. "It will be all right," the voice said again, "rest now. You must choose later." And everything faded into darkness._

_He woke hazily, Where was he? He seemed to be lying in a bed but as he looked around it seemed that the bed itself stood in some light-filled space and he was the only person there. Slowly he sat up and looked around, wherever he was it certainly wasn't back on the road. "You're awake," a gentle voice said and he looked up to see a bright, shining figure standing at the end of the bed._

"_Sort of," he half-smiled, "So where is this place? Heaven, Hell or Limbo?"_

"_They're human definitions," the figure replied, "where you are now is a place of healing, where you were was a Way Station. Most people understand this and choose, you on the other hand are either spectacularly dense or spectacularly dumb."_

"_Great, so I'm thick or a fool," he scowled. "So, I get to be damned now?"_

"_Do you want to be?" it asked, and when there was no answer he thought they smiled. "You are primarily a scientist, Detective, this I presume is completely new territory."_

"_You got that right," Mac responded, "I don't like things that I can't touch."_

"_But this is not a matter of science, Detective, this is a matter of faith."_

_He scowled again and she laughed softly, "This, as I said, is a place of healing and a place of choosing."_

"_What do I choose?" he looked up at her._

"_Your choice, Detective." She smiled, and then she said softly, "I see you have chosen already. Go back to sleep."_

_His head and body were feeling heavy again, he remembered lying back down again and blinking up at the shining ceiling. The being seemed to move until it was bending over him and he thought he felt her hand on his forehead, "Rest now." It said._

"_What about Claire," he mumbled, trying to keep his eyes open._

"_I am here, love," another figure was on the other side of the bed._

"_I miss you so much," Mac burbled, fighting to stay awake. "Let me come home, I want to be with you."_

"_And I you, sweetheart, but not yet. There is much you must do."_

"_Will I see you again?" It was the plaintive cry of a child._

"_Yes, my Darling. Sleep now." And with her final words Mac's eyes closed and he dropped into darkness._

He could hear the beeping of a machine and there was an antiseptic smell in the air. He tried to shift position and gasped as a streak of pain shot through him. Someone took his hand and he forced open heavy eyelids to stare up into a familiar face. _Stella_, he thought hazily. She smiled down at him, "It's all right, Mac," she said gently, "you're safe."

He managed a crooked smile and closed his eyes again, before sleep closed over him like a cloud he thought he heard her voice say, "That was a close run thing."

So here he was two and a half weeks later, standing at the monument to the 9/11 bombings. He'd promised Stella that once he'd checked himself out of the hospital he would go straight home and rest, but he couldn't just pass this place, he had so wanted to be here when it was dedicated, to stand with the others who had lost friends and family and share their grief. He closed his eyes and swayed slightly.

"Hey, are you all right?" A gentle hand touched his arm and his eyes snapped open, he'd almost passed out again. Looking down he saw the young woman in the wheelchair, concern in her grey eyes.

He nodded dazedly, expecting her to leave but to his suprise her hand remained on his arm, "You look all in."

He managed a weary smile, "I suppose. Just had a bad month." His eyes closed again and he would have fallen if someone else hadn't caught him.

"Simon, I think we'd better take him to my apartment," she said softly.

Mac tried to shake his head but the fog seemed to be rising, he vaguely remembered being helped into a car and then into an elevator. Then he was being guided into a bedroom. Afterwards he would remember the concerned face of the woman in the wheelchair, the vibrant red of the duvet cover and the warmth of the room. He remembered sitting on the edge of the bed and someone removing his shoes and jacket. Then nothing.

She watched him sleeping, she'd seen by the way he moved and held himself that he was hurt. Tom had moved the same way sometimes when he'd been injured in a rescue. Normally she wouldn't have interfered, but he looked exhausted. When he'd almost passed out the second time Simon had stepped in and supported him, she'd expected more resistance when she'd suggested taking him to her home but to her surprise there had been very little. Simon had sat him on the bed and removed his shoes and jacket and then he'd quietly fainted away. She'd waited while he called her doctor in and after a quick cursory examination Dr Stanton had straightened up and buttoning up his shirt advised, "Let him sleep. He's been injured somehow and probably needs the rest."

"Thanks, Helen." She smiled.

"You should take care of yourself too, Sarah," Helen Stanton advised.

"Yes, I know," she sighed, "just sometimes the grief is overwhelming."

"I know," Dr Stanton laid a hand on her friend's shoulder, "I wish I could offer some comfort, but I'm afraid that I'm an atheist."

Sarah raised a hand to cover Helen's, "You've never tried to pacify me with platitudes," she said, "and for that I am grateful."

Helen nodded, "Get some rest. Understand?"

Sarah nodded and watched as her friend left the room, leaving her alone with the now sleeping man.

Mac regained consciousness slowly, he could feel the softness of a duvet beneath him. He searched his memory, trying to work out where he was. He'd been standing in front of the 9/11 monument when he'd suddenly felt dizzy. He remembered the young woman and then strange, disjointed images of someone helping him into a car and then into an elevator before sitting him on the bed – and then nothing.

He opened his eyes and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. He frowned, trying to make sense of the scattered pieces of his memory. Someone bent over him and he found himself looking into the face of a young woman, "Are you back with us for a bit, Detective?"

He frowned and tried to sit up, but her hand on his chest stopped him, "Easy, Detective, easy."

"What-" he began and then he licked his lips, "How-"

"You became ill at the 9/11 Memorial," she said gently, "You didn't look in any condition to be left so I brought you to my home."

"Yes," he said softly, "the lady in the wheelchair I remember you."

"Good," she smiled, "Now do you want to eat or sleep for a bit longer?"

Slowly he sat up and put a hand to his head as the room revolved, "I think eat," he remarked. "Is there any way I can make a telephone call?"

"Of course, Dectective Taylor," she showed him the telephone beside the bed and then smiled, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

He looked up surprised, "That'd be great –"

"Sarah," she replied, "I shall leave you in peace to make your telephone call. You are most welcome to stay for supper and then you can decide what you want to do next."

He nodded and watched as she wheeled herself from the room leaving him alone. Mac picked up the receiver and dialled the number, "Stella," he said gratefully when it was lifted at the end.

"Mac," the relief in Stella's voice was palpable, "where have you been? The office has been going nuts!"

"I'm all right," Mac replied, "I just needed some time alone Stella. Sorry to upset everyone."

He heard the smile in Stella's voice as she replied, "All right, Mac. Look after yourself and don't get into any more trouble."

He was replacing the receiver when a young man re-entered the room carrying a mug of coffee, "Your coffee, Detective."

Mac looked up and smiled, "Thank you -"

"Simon, Detective," the man smiled, "I'm one of Sarah's assistants."

"Sarah," Mac clarified. Simon nodded, "When Mrs Weaver wants to go anywhere I fulfil two roles, I drive her and help her into her wheelchair." He smiled, "And supper is ready if you feel able to walk, otherwise I can help you into a spare wheelchair and take you downstairs."

Mac scowled and stood up, or rather attempted to stand up but the room revolved and he had to sit down again hurriedly, Simon smiled and said gently, "I'll get the other wheelchair, Detective."

Reluctantly Mac allowed himself to be helped into the wheelchair and taken downstairs in the elevator. Sarah was sitting at a desk writing when he entered, Simon parked him at the table and then said, "I trust you will be able to help yourself to supper."

Sarah half-turned and wheeled herself across to the table, "Not happy are you, Detective?" she asked gently.

He scowled and shook his head, then he looked up at her, "Call me Mac. Sorry. I'm not a very good patient."

"That's all right, Mac." Sarah smiled, "Was your telephone call successful?"

"Marginally," he smiled, "my colleague wanted to flay me alive but I managed to convince her that I was all right."

Dinner was brought in and Mac looked down in surprise to see chicken casserole and mashed potatoes. Sarah smiled, "I forgot to ask whether you would prefer rice or potatoes."

Mac smiled, "That's all right."

"Eat your supper, you can stay the night if you wish and I'll have Simon drive you into town tomorrow morning."

Mac didn't answer but she thought she caught the flicker of something in his eyes and smiling she bent to her supper. Afterwards, she wheeled herself into the lounge and Simon pushed Mac into the room after her. He watched incuriously as she eased herself from her wheelchair onto the settee. "Does it hurt to do that?" he asked suddenly.

She looked up and smiled, "Not really, I don't have much sensation in my legs anyway."

Mac nodded and then slowly eased himself out of his own wheelchair and onto one of the other chairs, "I owe you."

"I wouldn't be much of a person if I hadn't helped you," Sarah replied, "and I couldn't leave you."

"Yes you could," Mac shook his head, "I could have been anyone."

"True," she smiled, "but then I do not think so. You lost someone there too I think."

"My wife," he said quietly, "You?"

"My husband," she replied, "So here we are two little crippled kittens, thrown together by the Fates."

Mac sighed, "Perhaps." He swallowed, "Sarah, would you come to bed with me?"

She looked up in shock, the colour draining from her face, "No, I don't want to have sex with you, I doubt I could please any woman tonight. I don't want to be alone, I want to be with someone who knows how I feel."

She stared at him for a moment and then swallowing hard, nodded. Mac managed a weary smile, "Would you mind if we went to bed, I'm exhausted."

Sarah nodded and a soft smile tugged at the corner of Mac's mouth. "Thanks," he said quietly.

They slid under the covers, and Sarah felt Mac slide his arms around her. She swallowed her fear and heard him sigh as he rested his head on her chest, "I'm sorry about this-" he began thickly, but Sarah's arm was around him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"It's all right," she replied gently, "go to sleep. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"You any good with nightmares?"

"I can try," she said gently, "go on. You need sleep."

Mac half-smiled and closed his eyes, dropping almost immediately into slumber.

For the first time since he could remember, he slept deeply and dreamlessly. He remembered turning over and feeling Sarah slide an arm around him, holding him close. He sighed softly and relaxed back into her warmth.

He woke lazily, feeling the warmth of the duvet around him, surprising himself he snuggled deeper under the covers and fell back asleep. When he awoke the second time it was to see Sarah sitting beside the bed, "Mac?" she queried gently, "are you awake?"

"Yes," he replied, slowly sitting up, and relaxing back onto the pillows. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and then laid his hand on her arm, "Thank you."

She looked up startled, "For what?"

"Everything," he replied, looking into her eyes.

"Ah, Detective Taylor," she laughed, "you praise me far too highly, I merely did what anyone would have done, I saw someone who needed assistance, I could help so I did."

"Mac," he said softly, "and I do not think anyone would have done what you did."

"I'll leave you to get dressed," she replied, blushing to the roots of her hair, "and then I think Simon will take you wherever you want to go, your friends will be worried about you."

Mac nodded and smiling, Sarah wheeled herself from her room. When Mac came downstairs, Sarah was sitting at her laptop. She looked up and smiled, "Detective Taylor, you look much better."

Mac smiled, "Would you like to meet for a coffee sometime?"

Sarah smiled wryly, "All right, Detective Taylor, when and where?"

He smiled and said, "There's a little cafe down on twenty-second street, called Susan's, Saturday, half-past two. And call me Mac."

"I'll be there," she smiled, "Mac."

"Mac! Where have you been!" Stella demanded, although the relief in her voice was evident. "We've been worried sick!"

Mac smiled, "I was fine, Stella, I telephoned you last night, remember?"

Stella nodded, "All right, but one day I'm going to want answers."

Mac nodded absently.

Despite himself he couldn't wait for Saturday, Would she be there? He wondered.

The week seemed to pass so slowly that he wondered at times if it would ever end. At times he caught himself looking out of the window in his office, lost in thought. Eventually Saturday arrived and for one of the few times in his life, he agonized over what to wear. Finally he decided on a pair of slacks, a white shirt and a jacket.

He entered the coffee shop nervously and saw her sitting at an unoccupied table, her eyes fixed on her cup. She looked up and he saw a slight smile curve her lips, he smiled in return and then sat down. "Sarah, I'm glad you came."

"Let's just say that I'm a sucker for a sob story," a wry smile curved her lips, and then she sighed, "but those of us affected by this should stick together. It's not easy to talk about-"

"You're not going to psychoanalyse me are you?" Mac asked suspiciously.

"No," Sarah smiled, "I had enough of that after Tom – I wouldn't subject anyone else to it."

Mac smiled tightly and said, "Yeah I know."

"And half of them wanting me to talk about my feelings." She smiled ruefully, "I wanted to talk about Tom."

"And I wanted to talk about Claire," he volunteered. The waitress came over and Mac ordered another two cappuccinos. She stirred her coffee absently and said, "Were you always a Detective, Mac?"

"Marines first," he replied, "you?"

"Administrative work first, proofreading later and I wrote a couple of articles on the public services in New York. That's how I met Tom. I wrote an article about the fire station and the men who served there. Then I wrote a couple of articles about the Mayor's office and the police force. I haven't written an article about your team yet though."

"Let me read your other articles and we'll see," Mac replied, grinning. "And how do you know about _My_ Team?"

Sarah looked sheepish, "I looked you up on the Net. You have quite an impressive track record, Mac."

He laughed and said, "So you know that I'm head of the CSI Squad here in New York."

"One of the best in the country."

"Oh I wouldn't believe everything you read on the Internet." Mac replied dryly, "they exaggerate my capabilities."

She raised an eyebrow and replied, "Still there must be a grain of truth in what they write. They couldn't outright _lie_."

Mac laughed, "You praise me far too highly."

"I'm not so sure," Sarah smiled, "obviously the web site doesn't tell me everything, but reading between the lines, it's obvious that you're a close knit team."

To his surprise, Mac laughed, "You've discovered my guilty secret."

Sarah grinned and took a sip of her coffee, "I think you very lucky, Mac."

"Truthfully," he smiled back at her, "so do I."

"So," she set her empty cup down on the saucer, "what now?"

"Well – I was hoping we could meet up every week for a coffee and a chat," he smiled.

"Are you asking me out on a _date_?" she gaped at him.

"Sort of," he looked uncomfortable, "Look, I don't like rushing things. I follow the book with everything. You know, slow, patient, methodical."

"What are you trying to say Mac?" Sarah asked quietly.

He shook his head, "I'm not sure. I'd like to get to know you, Sarah. I haven't felt this comfortable with someone in months – and frankly it scares the living hell out of me."

"Ah," she smiled, "then we will take this as slowly as you wish, Detective Taylor."

"It could take years," he muttered, suddenly lifting his head, his hazel eyes meeting her grey ones.

"Then it will take years," she replied, "you may not be the only one who wishes to take things slowly, Detective. I too am a little frightened."

He took her hand and lifting it to his lips, kissed the knuckles, "I am glad I met you."

"And I you, Mac." She smiled at him and for the first time in almost ten years, Detective Mac Taylor felt his grief begin to ease.


End file.
